


Let Your Hearts Be Light

by Barb Cummings (Rahirah)



Series: The Barbverse [92]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Christmas, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Holiday, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-20
Updated: 2009-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahirah/pseuds/Barb%20Cummings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike reads a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Your Hearts Be Light

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the same universe as _A Raising in the Sun_, _Necessary Evils_, et. al. (See the [Barbverse Timeline](http://sleepingjaguars.com/buffy/viewpage.php?page=timeline) for specifics.) It contains spoilers for previous works in the series.

_"'Marley was dead, to begin with.'"_

The wreath on the front door is plastic, the tree beside the fireplace is already starting to shed needles in the heat, and when Buffy ran out to get last-minute olives and marshmallow fluff earlier, it was warm enough to wear shorts. Sunnydale, California's about as far from Victorian London as you can get. But it's Christmas Eve, and when Spike says those familiar words, you can almost feel the touch of frost in the air.

_"'"What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough."'"_

Spike sits on the couch: book on lap, glasses on nose, boots on coffee table. Connie snuggles up on one side, Alex on the other. Their father's been home for a couple of months now, but they're still clingy with him, as if fearful he's going to disappear again if they let him out of their sight. Buffy can't blame them; she's a little clingy herself. Spike doesn't seem to mind - eats up the attention like a starving man, in fact, though thankfully, he's no longer looking so much like one.

_"'"If they would rather die," said Scrooge, "they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population."'"_

Bill sprawls in front of the hearth, taking up as much rug space as one lanky going-on-fifteen-year-old boy can possibly command. Chin on hands, his mop of sandy curls falling into his eyes, he's studiously poring through his geology textbook. Ostensibly he's too old for this ritual, but should Spike happen to skip a line, he's always quick to leap in with a correction.

_"'Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels, but he had never believed it until now.'"_

Spike morphs into game face to do the voice of Marley's ghost, and his glasses slip down his broad, flat demon nose until Connie pushes them up again, giggling. RP sounds even more incongruous coming through a mouthful of fangs than his normal North London drawl - Buffy's not even sure that he realizes he reverts to the accent of his human youth when he reads aloud, and she's not about to deprive herself of the pleasure of listening to that dark velvety rumble by mentioning it.

_"'And in the very wonder of this, it would be itself again; distinct and clear as ever...'"_

Until tonight, she hasn't been sure been sure they'd keep this tradition up this year. She's wary of being sure of things, taking nothing for granted as they pick up pieces of their lives and examine them: _Yes, this one, this one will still fit, but that - ?_ Maybe Spike wouldn't feel up to it. He's still recovering from his stint in Wolfram &amp; Hart's clutches. And maybe this year, after all that's happened, the kids wouldn't be interested in something so uber-retro as listening to their father read some musty old story. It's the twenty-first century, after all.

_"'But if they had been twice as many -- ah, four times -- old Fezziwig would have been a match for them, and so would Mrs Fezziwig.'"_

But Alex, bless him, is too young to understand anything more than _Daddy was gone and now he's back_. Demanding "Daddy, read Scrooge!" as he dragged the book down from the shelf pretty much settled the matter. And one more piece slips back into place, maybe not exactly where it used to be, but close enough, close enough. Buffy hands around the mugs - hot chocolate for her and Connie and Alex, warm pig's blood with cinnamon for Spike and Bill - and slips into her place, too, curled up in the tiny amount of couch space left, bare toes tucked beneath Spike's thigh.

_"'"Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost. "Come in, and know me better, man."'"_

Connie cheers (the second Spirit is her favorite, because for years she thought it was the Ghost of Christmas _Presents_). Spike slides an arm over Alex's head, along the back of the sofa, and Buffy shifts to fit herself to its curve, letting the words wash over her, a warm golden river of prose.

_"'"Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased."'"_

Buffy sips her cocoa and wonders what message Bill takes from this story, sans human soul - what do the words his father reads with so much feeling mean to him? And Spike himself - what demony thoughts lie behind his smile when Alex tugs at his sleeve and whispers, "Daddy? Can I send those kids my cookies?" She can ask, and they'll try to explain, but she'll never truly understand. She lays her free hand upon her belly. Already she can tell that this new one she carries, conceived of their frantic reunion two months before, will be like Spike, like Bill. A child she'll never truly understand. They've come back together, she and Spike, but in some sense they'll always be a family divided.

_"'"Let me see some tenderness connected with a death," said Scrooge...'"_

The whole bit about Tiny Tim is incredibly corny, but with their own loss not so far behind them, Buffy'd willingly beat in the face of anyone who made fun of it right now. Spike goes yellow-eyed and fangy again to disguise the break in his voice, and Bill rolls over on his back, hands laced across his chest, staring up at the ceiling with that inward look that, let's be honest, she wouldn't know how to interpret in a human boy, either.

"They should have just killed Scrooge and taken his stuff earlier," he mutters.

Spike sets the book down, regarding his offspring over the rims of his glasses. "Why d'you think they don't, then?" he asks, as if he's genuinely curious.

Connie's reply comes with a decisive bob of chestnut curls. "Because it's _wrong._"

Alex's eyes are enormous with the injustice of the idea. "Because it's _mean_."

"Because," Bill says, after a long, thoughtful pause, "he's family."

"There you go, then," says Spike softly, smoky amber eyes melting once more into blue.

Buffy leans into his shoulder, listening to that gorgeous whiskey-and-burnt-sugar voice as Spike recites from memory now, words that long, loving use have polished to a lustrous gleam. _"'Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset...'"_

Spike doesn't really get Connie or Alex's answers any more than she gets Bill's. But together, somehow or other, they'll muddle through, the way they always have. Fitting the pieces of the puzzle back together, even if they aren't quite sure what the final picture will be. God's not going to be blessing her weird little family any time soon; no miracle snow for her demon brood.

But that's OK. Buffy's pretty sure they're not going to need it.

END


End file.
